


Forever War

by yujacheong



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Cynicism, Gen, Haunted by the past, Mental Instability, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-03 19:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20458571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yujacheong/pseuds/yujacheong
Summary: Vader has trouble distinguishing between the past and the present. Fortunately, it rarely matters in the context of the Empire's forever war.“But should we openly concede defeat on Christophsis, we run the risk of—”Vader rouses himself. Christophsis. He knows this Outer Rim hellhole disguised as one of the wonders of the known galaxy well. But…didn’t theywinthe Battle of Christophsis? He remembers Bail Organa, and Ahsoka, and Obi-Wan—No, don’t be stupid – that is not a fruitful direction of thought. Where is he?Whenis he? Does it even matter? No, it doesn’t. Vader stops remembering, stops thinking, startsacting.





	Forever War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Redrikki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Peace is a Lie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7314463) by [Redrikki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki). 

Vader’s suit is what keeps him alive. It’s his armor. His Master says that it is also a great work of art and that lesser beings are at once mesmerized and intimidated by its outward appearance.

Vader has never had much appreciation for art. He doesn’t understand it; he doesn’t recognize its value. He has, however, developed a certain amount of appreciation for the appearance of his suit beyond its purely functional qualities:

When he wears it, he becomes as a living statue. Sculptural. Inscrutable. A cipher.

This is war, and war is a collective enterprise. He is rarely alone. But the beings which surround him? They don’t really see the man behind the mask. The don’t even really see the mask itself. Instead, they project their feelings – their ambitions, their desires, their envies, their angers, their anxieties, their _fears_ – onto it. Vader himself might as well be invisible.

Vader likes being invisible in plain sight. He likes that they don’t know what he’s thinking…or if he’s doing any thinking at all whatsoever.

These days, a lot of the time, he doesn’t even bother paying attention. War? It’s all the same. The planetary bombardments, the aerial dogfights, the troop deployments, the land skirmishes? The same. The star charts, the diplomatic “incidents,” the threats disguised as parlays? Also the same. The war room strategy sessions, the board meetings, the debriefings? Same, same, _same_.

“—proven ineffective against the insurgents’ guerilla tactics,” some commanding officer or another – Vader has forgotten her name – is saying. She’s just making poor excuses for the failures of her personal leadership, and that makes her a waste of habitable space. Vader tunes her out.

“If our AT-AT repair modules weren’t so inadequately resourced—” The commanding officer again, whining about another failure poorly disguised as an attempt to shift blame onto the budget officer.

“Ridiculous! We gave you everything—” The budget officer attempts to defend himself. His attempt is poor.

“The re-educational holo-infomercial campaign has—” A holo bursts into blue-light motion above the center of the boardroom table. There are dynamic action shots set to upbeat, patriotic victory music. Media? _Media?!_ Who cares about public opinion?!

“But should we openly concede defeat on Christophsis, we run the risk of—”

Vader rouses himself. Christophsis. He knows this Outer Rim hellhole disguised as one of the wonders of the known galaxy well. But…didn’t they _win_ the Battle of Christophsis? He remembers Bail Organa, and Ahsoka, and Obi-Wan—

No, don’t be stupid – that is not a fruitful direction of thought. Where is he? _When_ is he? Does it even matter? No, it doesn’t. Vader stops remembering, stops thinking, starts _acting_.

First, Vader waves his hand and shuts off the holo-infomercial. The sudden silence is surprising, and everyone in the room pauses and stops talking. Good. Second, he Force-chokes the offending commanding officer; the budget officer cringes with terror. Very good. Third, he calls for his shuttle to be prepared and ready to fly by the time he arrives in the docking bay. He says nothing further as he strides out of that stupid meeting, his armorweave cape streaming out like black water behind him.

Vader will deal with Christophsis himself.

War has shattered the planetary capital of Chaleydonia. Literally. Most of the famed crystal buildings of Christophsis are little more than jagged shards and messy piles of rubble.

This gives the insurgents plenty of cover. Not that Vader need worry about blaster bolts or landmines. Nothing can penetrate his armor – not even subatomic nuclear explosions – and even if by some unlikely possibility some weapon could damage him, few enemies are capable of evading the natural precognitive abilities of a talented Force-sensitive such as himself. Why, at the tender age of nine, he’d been podracing—

“Now, now, you must always be on guard. Overconfidence is a weakness, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says.

No, Anakin Skywalker is dead. Burnt. Less than ash. Vader refuses to listen to the ghosts of the past.

He senses a concentration of hostile presences in the direction of a little lean-to shanty which can’t possibly, at least by outward appearance, provide shelter for more than one. Looks can be deceiving, though.

“Hey, Skyguy, want me to go first?”

“No, Snips, don’t be stupid. You don’t know if—”

No. That was then. _She _abandoned him. This is now. There is no one here to deal with this problem but Vader himself.

He enters the lean-to. Sure enough, the rickety structure conceals a rather more sturdy underground hatch. It is securely locked. Vader makes short work of the seal, opening it with a wave of his gloved hand and a touch of the Force. A dark pit in the ground. Vader does not hesitate. He leaps.

The fall lasts nine seconds. Vader lands on his feet with a soft thump. All is blackness, but he knows that there are insurgents in this underground bunker. Twenty at least. Vader draws his lightsaber and ignites it. By the light of the crimson laser blade, he sees the terrified faces of the insurgents as he cuts them down. He knows that this is the leadership. Even so, some of them are remarkably young – children.

There are more than twenty. Twenty-nine, to be exact, and each and every one of them is his enemy. He give no quarter, shows no mercy, accepts no surrender; he kills them all.

After he is finished, a second Force-assisted leap takes him back to the surface. He activates his wrist comm. “_Resolute_, I have eliminated the Separatist leadership—”

No. _No_. That was then; this is _now_.

“_Devastator_, I have eliminated the Rebel leadership in the capital. I would advise additional mop-up battalions deployed to each the six provinces.”

“Yes, Lord Vader.”

Yes. _Yes. _Anakin Skywalker is dead. _He_ is Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, and the first four words of the Sith code are as follows: _Peace is a lie_.

Vader knows this to be true: There is no peace. There is only war. Forever and ever and ever, war. And if, after many – how many? – years, he can’t always be bothered to remember _which_ war he is fighting, who cares anyway? What does it matter?

It doesn’t. Not as long as he gets it done.


End file.
